


Things found in the dark

by Rioghna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Historical AU, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Parent(s), Romance, Rumbelle Showdown 2015
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioghna/pseuds/Rioghna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entry for round one of the RumBelle Prompt Showdown.  The prompts were Homelessness, Furry, Historical AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Showdown Prompt 1--

Things found in the dark

It was late and Rum Gold was just turning down the gas lamps in the front of the shop when he heard it, the sound of something crashing in the alley out back. He thumped his cane on the floor irritably and made his way to the back as fast as his bad leg would carry him, cursing most of the way, and hoping it was nothing more than the usual furry or not so furry vermin digging through the refuse. Of course it could be nothing, but better safe than sorry. 

Gold would never admit it, not to anyone, it would be bad for his reputation, but he didn't much mind the boys who were were sleeping rough going through his rubbish. He'd had a son once, and had spent a certain amount of his youth doing much the same. Better rummaging through the bins than turning to thievery or worse and there was plenty enough worse out there. Now there were the gangs forming among the young and not so young men in the immigrant neighbourhood in the lower east side of Manhattan. But he didn't mind them if they didn't make a mess or annoy him. 

He flung open the back door and shivered at the bitter cold and the flakes of snow that blew in. The alley behind the shop looked empty enough, though he was careful to keep his cane poised, in case of robbery. Nothing looked disturbed, but he cast a careful eye around just in case. He had no fear of the street arabs, but some of the others, the older lads, weren't above a bit of rough work, especially that lot that hung around on the street corner with that boy Peter. He'd always been a bad one, and Felix, his closest companion, was just as bad. Gold had seen the roughing up the newsboys for their pennies. They'd come to a bad end soon enough. 

The alleyway looked clear and he started to turn back towards the shop when he heard something, just the slightest sound, like something shaking. "Come out, come out, dearie. If you think to hide from me, you've another think coming." He turned toward the sound as it became clearer to him, the chattering of teeth. "Come on, I may be a monster, but I'll not eat you up," he said. 

 

Slowly the figure emerged from behind a couple of barrels. From the distance he couldn't quite see what the boy (he assumed it was a boy) looked like and he urged the figure forward. It was smaller than he was, and he doubted he was in danger. Besides he had his cane. "Well, come into the light and tell me what you were doing in my alley. If you were thinking of breaking in..." he stopped as the figure stepped into the small pool of light from the open door. It wasn't a boy, it was a girl, or more probably a young woman, it was hard to tell. She was small, raggedly dressed with no coat, and shivering from the cold. His first thought was she was a working girl but her clothes were too ragged and despite the dirt on her face, what he could see of her, she was too pretty to be working on the street, certainly this street. Hell, even if she had the pox, they'd find a place for her. But no, she hadn't the hardened look of a fancy girl. 

"What are you doing out here, girl?" Gold demanded in a low growl, trying not to allow himself to be drawn in. He'd only been a sucker for a pretty face twice, he'd not do it again. 

"Please Sir, I was just...I'll move on now..." she said. Clearly there was something here, and he had to admit he was curious. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. 

"Not so fast, dearie," he said and snaked a hand out to grab her wrist faster than she was expecting or could move away. "What you will do is step inside and tell me why you were hiding in my alley, then I will decide if I need to fetch the police. 

"No sir, please," she said frightened. That didn't surprise him any. The police in this neighbourhood were hardly paragons of virtue, and Officer Gaston, who walked the beat here, was known for a lot of things, none of them pleasant. Gold knew for a fact that he took payoffs to look the other way from most of the brothel owners and he'd seen him once beat a girl who refused to pay the 'tax' for being allowed to work. He'd not have called the man if she had actually tried to rob him. 

 

Gold steered the girl into the back room and closed and locked the door behind him, finally getting his first good look at her. He'd been right, she was a beautiful girl, or rather young woman. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, as he put the kettle he kept in the back room on the spirit lamp. 

Belle nodded as she stood and tried to soak up as much warmth as she could. Soon enough she would be back out in the cold, and she wasn't certain what she could do from there. Perhaps she shouldn't have followed him into the shop, nor allowed him to lock the door, but somehow, she didn't think he was going to harm her. Not like that police man, or the brothel-keeper that had led her into the situation she now found herself in. She didn't know Mr. Gold, save his name. He had run the shop as long as she and her father had lived here. He had a reputation as a hard man, a monster, and worse. Mr. Gold was a pawnbroker and made loans, she knew that. She knew too that he got his money, and if he didn't, then there was another price to be paid. But she had never heard him accused of taking his payment in that way. Not that she had anything else to sell or any way of paying him back if she did. 

"Now, what were you doing hiding out in my alley? In fact, what are you doing out on the street on a night like this? Not a fit night out for anyone. If you'd thought to sleep there, I'd have found you dead in the morning, the vermin gnawing on yer carcass." He didn't look at her, busying himself with the tea things. 

"I...I just needed a place out of the wind," she said, not sure exactly what she could or should say to this man. 

"And why is that, Miss French? Oh, I know who you are, in the light. Your father had a flower stall on the corner."

"He did. He...died," she said finally. "I've no other family. Mr. Jones let me stay in the apartment for the last few weeks, but..."

"But Killian Jones never gives anything for free, in that way alone we are alike. But I'll take it you didn't know the 'price' of his help?" he said, passing her a cup of tea. 

Belle nodded, ducking her head to breath in the blessed steam rising from the cup, trying to hold in the tears. "He came to the apartment two days ago, said it was time I started earning my keep. I didn't know what he..."

"Enough. I hardly need to hear the details of Mr. Jones dealings," he said with a grimace. This was not his problem, he knew it. Not that he approved of Jones, in fact he hated the man. That the two of them had successfully avoided killing each other while living in the same neighbourhood was down to the fact that Gold rarely left his shop and Jones liked to stay out of his way. "So you managed to get away, how was that?"

"I...after he explained it to me, told me what..." She paused and shuddered, as the horror started to creep in. Gold pulled a furry coat off the rack by the door and draped it over her, cursing himself for getting involved and wondering exactly what the hell he thought he was doing. He'd no need to do anything, but something about her called to him. "I told him I would, but that I needed to get changed, wash. I went into my bedroom and climbed out the window."

"Well, ye're a brave one, I'll give you that. The question is, what are you going to do from here?" 

"I've been hiding since. I haven't had time to figure it out," she said. "But I have already imposed on you too much. I'll just..."

Gold cursed himself for a fool as he found the words forming. "I'll make you a deal, Dearie."


	2. When two people each have something the other wants...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold and Belle make a deal to save her from Jones.

This was not his problem, Gold reminded himself, and he shouldn't involve himself, except that he was involved whether he willed or no. Knowing her father, she most certainly didn't. 

"What...what kind of deal?" Belle asked, her eyes flickering fearfully towards the door. 

"Not the kind that you are clearly thinking. You have no need to fear, Miss French, I've no interest in your virtue, either personally or professionally."

"Then what do you want?" she asked. Canny girl, that one. That was good, she was certainly brave enough, if a little naive. Clearly she had been unaware of Killian Jones line of business, though the building he lived in and rented accommodations in was not where he conducted it. Though it would not be the first time that one of his 'boarders' had ended up finding themselves in dire straights. Not for the first time, Gold regretted his absence when the building came up for sale, but there was nothing for it. 

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid that your father died owing more than just Mr. Jones. He was not the best of businessmen."

"Oh no," she exclaimed. "Not you as well. I have nothing..." Tears started to fall and he reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief as he turned away. He hated weeping women. He'd never known what to do with them. 

"Enough of that. A monster I might be, but my agreement was with your father, not you," Gold said sharply. He was very careful now. He didn't want her to think him soft, but the truth was he knew what it was to pay for a parent's mistakes and misdeeds. "But I do wish you to understand the position you are in. Maurice French had many creditors, some possibly less savoury than Mr. Jones, though I couldn't be certain. I do know he went elsewhere when I cut him off." 

"What do you propose?" Belle asked. Her tears had stopped and she was looking at him directly, trying to be brave. Good, she was going to need her courage. He turned to prepare them both a second cup of tea. The girl would be better set once she was warmer and Gold wondered how long it had been since she had eaten. 

"Simple, really. I've need of a housekeeper, a cleaner and a cook. I assume that you have these skills?" He knew for a fact that she had done for her father. 

Belle let out the breath that she had been holding, relaxing for the first time, possibly in days. It certainly wasn't what she was expecting. "I...yes, I can. My father said I was a fine cook. But..."

"I've not finished, dearie. You will tend the cooking and the cleaning, the laundry and mending. You will also dust the shop and help me with any other tasks I need. In returned, you will get a roof over your head, food, and a small stipend for...personal things. Do we have an agreement?"

"I...nothing more?" Belle asked warily. After Jones, he should not be surprised. "They say..."

"As I told you, I don't deal in women. I have been known to make the odd agreement to find homes for babes whose parents are unable to afford to keep them. I should add that to your list of tasks. You will occasionally have to tend the infants for a day or so, until their new parents come for them. But as I said, I have no interest in taking advantage of...children," he told her, looking over her from head to food. "I might be a monster, dearie, but I am a monster of my word. If you like, I can draw up a contract. I suppose you can read at least somewhat?"

"Yes sir, I read and write, I wanted to go to teachers college. I tried to keep my father's books, at least until the last year, but he..." Belle paused. It still hurt. "Why would you do this?"

"My reasons are my own," Gold snapped. "But suffice it to say that any time I can get one over on Killian Jones, it is well worth my time. Besides, I genuinely do need a housekeeper. Now, do we have a deal?"

"Yes, I think we do."

 

After they finished their tea, Gold led her towards a door in the corner. A set of stairs led into the upper stories, gas light glowing softly towards the upper stories. "Come along. The kitchen is on the first floor," he said, leading her up. Gold opened a door into a modern kitchen. There was an actual cast iron stove, gas light, not to mention a sink with its own water. Their apartment had only had wanter on the ground floor and they had to carry it up. The man also charged extra for it. There was an icebox in the corner, and a food pantry, and it was warm, blessedly warm. Belle managed to slip off the furry coat he had dropped over her downstairs, and laid it carefully over the back of one of the chairs at the table in the middle of the room. "There is ham and cheese in the pantry, when was the last time you ate?" he asked.

"I...don't remember, but..."

"I've no use for a housekeeper who faints from hunger. The bread is in the box, and there are plates in the cabinet. You can start your duties by making us both dinner," Gold told her as he left the room, returning a few moments later with a pen and paper and sat himself down at the table and began making out the contract. The girl had clearly taken to her tasks. Belle had washed her hands and face, and started on making them sandwiches. The ham was sliced on the plates, and she was cutting bread and cheese, though he watched her carefully. Considering how long it had been since she ate, it probably hadn't been necessarily a good idea to have her handling a knife, but she seemed to be doing well enough. "More ham, girl. It's been a long day. And put the kettle on. I could use another cup." His voice was sharp. It wouldn't do for her to think he was kind. Already he was berating himself for taking her in. Though he'd not been lying, he'd fired the last one for stealing from him and hadn't bothered to find a new one.  
"My name isn't girl, it's Belle," she responded. Spirit, she was going to need it. 

By the time they had eaten, he'd got the first draft of the contract written and the girl was practically asleep in her chair. "You can use the bathroom on the third floor," he told her as he waved her towards the stairs. "You will find a bedroom on the top floor, there are linens in the press. Get cleaned up, and get some rest. I expect breakfast at 6:30 in the dining room next door. I take eggs, toast, and tea." Gold directed her towards the stair way. Belle turned startled eyes towards him. "What were you expecting? It's not as if I keep a dungeon to lock you away in," Gold said with a half smile.

"Goodnight Sir," Belle said quietly, then she slipped away up the stairs, tired and confused, but hopeful for the first time in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was not what I planned to write when I got up this morning. The first part was for the RumBelle showdown. When I wrote it, I received some requests to continue it, which I had every intention of doing, but I had to wait til the showdown was over, and by then I was working on other things. Apparently this morning it was the time to continue. Thank you for reading. Please comment, if you like it, if you don't, if you want something to be added. Let me know what you think.


	3. Settling in, getting to work

At 6:30 precisely, Gold seated himself at the dining room table. He heard the door open, and the girl, Belle, her name was Belle, he reminded himself, appeared with a tray. Clearly she had done some exploring of the kitchen. She brought tea, sugar bowl, jam pot, and butter dish first. "I didn't know how you took your tea in the morning," Belle said softly. "And there was no cream. I didn't know if..."

"The milk is delivered to the alley door. I should have said last night. You can see to it later," he said dismissively. She nodded and disappeared, coming back with the rest of his breakfast.

 _I really should find out how he likes his eggs_ , she thought as she looked around for the bottles to go out. Not much, but then he lived alone, so he was hardly going to need much. So far things had been simple enough. There were preferences of course, that would need to be established. Some people were terribly picky eaters, though Mr. Gold did not look like one of those. Actually he didn't look as if he ate much at all, but that was really none of her business.

Last night after Gold had dismissed her, Belle made her way up the stairs. She heard him stop at the second floor while she continued on. The third floor appeared dusty and unused, but she found the bathroom and continued on. The bedroom he had directed her to was next to the attic, it was relatively small, bare, with only the most basic of functional furniture. There was a bed, stripped bare, a table containing a lamp and clock which probably hadn't been wound since his last help had left, and a small chest, not that she particularly had anything to put in it. She lit the lamp and looked around. There were some hooks by the door, probably to hang a coat or cloak, but she had neither, and no time to worry about it. There was also a grate for a small fire, though there was no coal in the bucket. Belle decided she could see to that tomorrow, for now the room was warm, and to her mind, practically a palace, but she would bask in that later. For now, she followed directions to the linen press. When she opened it, it was filled with blankets, quilts and all manner of necessary linens. She removed some sheets, and after a moment, a couple of blankets. She itched to spread one of the quilts on the bed, but wasn't sure if her new employer would take kindly to it. As an afterthought, she chose a couple of towels and wash rags.

As soon as she finished making up her bed, Belle stripped off some of her clothes. She had left with the clothes on her back, a second shirt buttoned over the first, and all three of her petticoats beneath her skirt. It had been all she had time for. She carefully laid them out. Everything would need a wash though. For now, she took the least disreputable of the two shirts, and the petticoats and went back down to the bathroom. It was lavish, at least by the standards of her former home. There was a bathtub, an actual bathtub Unfortunately Belle thought it was probably too late for a bath. Instead, she washed up as best she could in the sink. Then she washed out her smalls, doing the best she could using a bar of plain soap.

Back in her room, she hung them on the pegs, hoping they would dry by morning, and settled beneath the blankets. For the first time in over a week, she was warm and safe.

Morning had come early. Belle had slept well, but woken to the sound of the grandfather clock in the parlour chiming. Slowly she had crept into the stairwell and counted the chimes and quarter chimes. 5:30. She had wound and set the mechanical alarm clock, dressed and made her way to the kitchen. After all, it was as good a time as any to familiarize herself with its contents.

The first floor contained the kitchen, dining room, and parlour that spanned the building from front to back. There were two large pantries, one containing silver and china, and the other dry goods. There was also a water closet. Belle had been surprised. It was known in the neighbourhood that Gold was not a poor man, in fact he owned several of the buildings on the block, but she doubted anyone knew how wealthy he was. She wondered idly why he had remained when he so clearly could have moved anywhere else. Of course, it was none of her business, and she chided herself for her curiosity. It was surely enough that he had helped her, though he got something out of the deal himself, something he obviously needed. But that was the nature of things. Everyone knew that no one cheated Mr. Gold. Fortunately she had no desire to.

After she'd served Mr. Gold, she went and got the milk from the back and deposited the bottles before returning to her own breakfast. When she went to clear up, he was ready to give her instructions. "After breakfast I work in my office for two hours. I am not to be disturbed at that time. Then I open the shop. This morning, however, I will be going out. The shop will remain closed until I return, and I would prefer that you remain upstairs in the living quarters. While I doubt that Jones would be willing to take me on, still, better that you remain out of sight. I am certain that you will find plenty to do."

"Yes sir."

"Good. I take lunch at noon and tea at four," he continued detailing the schedule for her.

"Where..."

"You may bring it to the workroom in the back of the shop." He looked her over from head to toe and Belle shivered just a little, unsure what it was he was seeing. "There is a box of secondhand clothes, nothing particularly worth resale, but good enough for scrubbing floors I would think. It's up in the attic. In fact, you may make use of whatever you find up there," he told her. "One more thing, when you clean my office, you will leave my desk alone, nor open any drawers. You may go anyplace you like unless it is locked, except the basement. That is off limits, you understand?"

"Yes sir," Belle said. She was starting to feel like she didn't know how to say anything else.

"Well, get on with it." He dismissed her to clear the table and retreat back into the kitchen. After Belle finished, she decided to explore the attic. The box was easy enough to find. She pulled out everything and made piles of what she could and could not use. There was a mix of things, trousers, dresses, skirts with stains or holes. Still they were better than nothing and some could probably be salvaged.

The tapping of the cane alerted her to Gold's presence in the stairway and she peered down. "I will be going out now," he called up to her. "Do not go down to the shop and do not answer the door. I will be back."

"How long?" she asked, unsure about being alone in the house.

"That depends on how reasonable a certain party wishes to be. Get on with your work." Then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of set up. Thank you for those who are reading this. Please leave comments, complaints or whatever you have to say.


	4. Repossession

"Knock again," Gold said sharply. The large man, Dove, who worked for him complied without a word, rapping hard enough that it would probably have knocked out a carthorse.

"Perhaps he's not..." Sergeant Graham Humbert started, but subsided. He was the ranking officer in the neighbourhood, and unlike many of his subordinates, completely honest and incorruptible. It was for that reason that Gold preferred to deal with him. In fact the man was working on cleaning up his patch, with the help of his captain (though just about no one else). Gaston, on the other hand, was venial, corrupt, greedy, and those were his better traits. The only thing that kept him from being more dangerous was his stupidity. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Luc Fouche, called 'le fou' among the French immigrants that had spawned them both, for his resemblance to the fool in many paintings. He looked like a court jester without the motley. The other reason he got that name was the mad things he did. Unfortunately he was crazy like a fox or a weasel, and good enough to convince Gaston things were his idea, the better to have the bigger man's protection.

Grumbling was heard from within, along with what was probably muffled curses, before the door was opened. William Smee was an obsequious bastard. No one knew exactly why he was as devoted to Jones as he was, though there were rumors that he had reclaimed him from impressment back during the war when they were both 'in the navy'. (Well, Jones called it his navel service when he was trying to pretend respectability, privateer when he was trying to impress the young woman. Gold called him a pirate all the time). "Excuse me, Gentlemen, but..." Smee started, giving an anxious look to the men outside the door. He wasn't much for a fight, more likely to hit someone when their back was turned. He was wearing trousers over a hastily (and badly) tucked in nightshirt, none of it any too clean, his ever present knit cap twisting in his hands as he did when nervous.

"I've no time for lap dogs, Smee, where is your master?"

"I'm not..." the man tried to say something but was interrupted again.

"I know exactly what you are," Gold sneered. "But I've other things to do today, so Go. Get. Jones." Each word was slow and deliberate.

"May I tell him..."

"You may tell him I have paper on Moe French. As he's dead, what was his is forfeit to his creditor, me. That means, in this case, all of his belongings are now mine. Now." he smiled like a shark as Smee practically fell over himself hurrying down the darkened corridor. It wasn't like Jones to waste money on basic things like lighting.

Moments later, Killian Jones appeared out of a door in the gloom. He was tucking his shirt into his trousers one handed, the other ending in a stump that usually sported a hook, but clearly he'd removed it for the night. There was a peevish, sleepy look on his face. Behind him, a woman slipped out clutching something to her (or a girl, Gold couldn't tell, nor did he want to), and vanished towards the back of the building. "What's all this? Gold, what are you doing here? Thought I told you never to step foot on my property, and at any rate, you've no business calling at..."

"It's hardly early, dearie, but not all of us spend our nights in debauchery."

"Could use some good debauchery, mate," Jones said.

"I'm not your mate, and when I want advice on the conditions of the gutter, I will ask you. Meanwhile, I'll just take what is mine, and be on my way."

"What do you mean, what is yours?" the man asked, eyes narrowing.

"I've paper here and a warrant pertaining to the belongings of one Maurice 'Moe' French, for repayment of debt. Since he is deceased, I've come to claim his worldly possessions. Probably won't recoup my loses, but better than nothing. Sergeant Humbert is here to see that everything stays...polite."

"You have no right! French was behind in his rent and his daughter..." Jones closed his mouth and Gold hid a smile, barely. The pirate knew what he tried to do to Miss French was illegal, and so did the good sergeant. He wouldn't want to say anything incriminating in front of the law, another reason Gold had brought him, and the pawnbroker was not going to tip his hand by telling.

"Neither his rent status, nor his daughter are my concern. If you have paperwork to prove your claim, I would suggest you take it up with the Magistrate. But, I'll have what's mine." Honestly, Gold had originally had no plan to go after French's possessions. He'd already had Dove take his barrow and turned it around promptly, but the rest probably weren't worth anything. Two things had changed his mind. First and foremost was the potential to strike back at his old enemy. He'd hated Jones with an undreamed of passion for years, and that was not accounting for his less savory business ventures. Gold might be a bastard, even a monster, but he was no pander.

The second reason was pure self interest. It would be easier to give the girl her own things than have to have them purchased. He was determined to keep her presence in his home a secret for as long as possible. It would mean spending no money on kitting her out either. At least he told himself that. So far, she'd asked for nothing and had done as she was instructed. Time would tell the rest.

"I've already rented it," Jones improved.

"Good, there'll be no packing then. Tell my men where..."

"What about my back rent?" the man asked furiously, waving the stump where he'd not put his hook on.

"Unless you have papers..." Gold grinned coldly, holding up his writ. "You can whistle fer 'em." His voice dropped low. He knew Jones had no papers, he preferred that his business dealings could not be questioned. It allowed him to cheat the desperate, the foolish and the unwary.

"Why you..." But before the men could get any closer, Dove dropped a hand on Jones' shoulder.

"That's enough," Graham added, taking charge. He didn't like Jones, and he knew the man's 'business dealings' were suspicious at the very least, but he'd never caught him, not yet. Not that he _liked_ Gold, he didn't, but while he wasn't sure about the man, he knew what he wasn't. "Jones, either tell us where you have put the stuff so they can get on with it, or I will be well within my rights to come in and search the place myself."

"And who knows what else he might find, ehhh?" Gold asked, smiling lopsidedly.

In the end, with a great deal of cursing on the part of 'Captain' Jones, everything was loaded on a wagon for the trip to his shop at the other end of the street. "Thank you, Sergeant," Gold said, shaking his hand.

"Just doing my job, sir. I only wish..." the man trailed off, looking up.

"What?"

"I'd like to know where Miss French is. I don't trust Jones and I'm hoping...You know what he is," the policeman ended lamely.

Gold considered. Graham was trustworthy, of that he was certain. "I'd not worry about her, Sergeant. Bright, resourceful girl like that, she's no doubt safe and sound probably found herself a job, by now." He held the man's eyes for a moment and then looked down to where his shop stood.

Graham looked puzzled and then the pieces suddenly fit. He'd never known Gold to go after personal possessions before, not if there was family. "Not sure you are going to find much resale in those, maybe the china. Still, I might like to take a look later, for my...sister," he finished.

Yes, he understood. Gold knew that the man had no kin is this country, save a wife and she'd died of fever several years ago. "I doubt any of them will go out for sale," he said dismissively. "Tiny thing, that one. I'll be lucky if I can get value for the fabric." The men said their goodbyes and Gold strode off to the shop. The fast the girl went through it, the faster she'd be back at work. At least there was no furniture, not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this really wasn't what I set out to write today, but things are like that some time. Please enjoy, read and all those things that keep us happy. Tell me what you like, and what you don't, or things you'd like to see.


	5. Found

Belle had finished the dishes and the rest of the kitchen quickly and set to work on the rest. First she made a full tour of the living quarters to note what was needed. The third floor was, to all appearances, abandoned. The wooden floor was covered with dust, the rug rolled up at the end, cobwebs festooned the corners and the lighting fixtures. Even the bathroom she'd used last night, while not dirty, had a dusty, disused feel to it. Belle made a note to do that last. She would need a full bath after she finished. 

After that, she went to the second floor. Gold's room was neat enough. Belle started by making up the bed. She found a glass on the side table and took it down for a wash, making a note in her head to ask for paper and at least a pencil for making lists. There was none in the kitchen and her room had nothing of the former occupant, and she wondered if the girl even could write. Regardless, that was only the beginning, there was food, preferences, even when the last time the laundry was done, and where. 

Having done the basic straightening, she changed into the rather disreputable looking day dress she'd found, with several stains and a torn hem, in the box. It was too long, but she could fix it easily enough, if he gave her needle and thread. Then she gathered the bucket and settled in to do the heavy cleaning. 

Belle was scrubbing the bathroom floor when she heard it, the sound of someone coming up the stairs. She started out into the hall, when she realised it wasn't Gold. His cane and his limp gave him a very specific sound. Belle was contemplating what to do when she heard Gold's voice. "Take the lot of it to the attic, for now," the man was saying. Making the assumption that he was talking to someone, possibly the big bald man that she had heard worked for him, Dove. She retreated quietly back to the bathroom, after all, he had said he wanted her out of sight. 

As she continued working, she heard the footsteps continuing up to the attic and back down. She started counting, curious as to exactly what all was being stored away and where he'd gotten it. By the time she had finished up the bathroom, the footsteps had stopped. Belle crept out onto the landing to listen. The footsteps had not been up in a bit, but still she waited. Then she heard Gold's voice far below, probably giving instructions to someone, and a door closing. 

Thinking it was probably safe, Belle took her bucket and went down. She found Gold in the kitchen. 

"Good, I was wondering where you were," he said. His voice was neutral, but she wondered if he thought she had gone, not that she had anywhere to go. 

"I was cleaning the bathroom," she said, holding up the bucket as if in evidence. "I heard someone but it wasn't you. Since you said I should stay..."

"Yes, well get on with it. I will be down in the shop. I served papers on a debt I was owed. You will find the cartons in the attic. Go through them. There should be some things..." he said, gesturing vaguely towards her. "Take what you can use." Then he turned and went downstairs without another word. 

Belle was startled but then, she still didn't know what to make of the man. He had no motive to help her, and yet he did. Still, there was time to get to know him. But for now, there was work to be done before she served his lunch, so she returned to work. 

It wasn't until she took his lunch down that Belle gave any more thought to the things he had brought. "Good," he said as he looked at the lunch that she had brought. 

"Thank you sir," she said, unsure exactly how to approach...anything with the man. "Is there anything I should know? About cooking, things you don't like?" she said finally. 

"No, feel free to cook whatever you please. If you need groceries, make a list. Dove will see to it." He started to turn away. 

"Sir, am I supposed to feed him as well? Only, I'd like to know..."

"Not regularly, no. I will inform you in enough time. Is there anything else?"

"Laundry," she said. "I need to know..."

"Ah," he said. "Follow me." Belle went after him. There was a small room behind the workroom, a door she'd not seen last night. Inside was a wash tub, one of the new ones with the hand crank and rollers. She'd seen one once, in the Sears and Roebuck catalog, and they had one in the shop window when she went uptown on the omnibus one day, but this was her first proper look and she found herself looking forward to seeing how it worked. Beyond the sink and the wash tub, there were two windows, and a door. He opened it, and showed her into an enclosed back courtyard, with clotheslines. "Does that satisfy you?" he asked. 

"Thank you, yes. I'll just..."

"You needn't do everything today," Gold said as he passed her going back into the workroom. "I've been managing well enough."

"It's all right sir, I'm fine."

"I'm not concerned about you. I simply don't wish my things broken by inattention or because you've exhausted yourself, not are you any good to me sick or injured." With that he turned and when back to his lunch.

Belle returned to the living quarters. After a quick lunch of her own, she decided to check out those boxes, and perhaps a bath. She'd gotten a good bit done already and there was still dinner to prepare and clean up from. Then she could start a list of groceries. The first floor was cleaned and she had done the bathrooms and straightened his bedroom. The other two rooms on that floor consisted of one door that was locked, and another that had been turned into a library. It was far more books than she had ever seen in one place, but she knew if she started, she would not stop. Later, perhaps, she would ask if she could read one or two, when she was certain how she stood with the enigmatic pawnbroker.

Slowly she made the climb to the attic. The top floor ws nice and warm, but she needed to remember to bring up coal before she bathed. It wouldn't do to clean up first and haul coal after. Opening the attic door, Belle was barely able to stop herself from falling to her knees in shock. There, sitting just inside the door was her mother's needlepoint chair. Tears began to fall slowly, then faster as she dropped down into it. Collected on a debt, he said, and he'd told her that her father owed him. What did that mean for his arrangement with him? Was he planning on taking the things she used out of her wages, or was he just making certain he didn't have to pay for her clothes?

Quickly, before she could get distracted more, she began opening the packing boxes. Her clothes were there, her books, even her winter coat, along with the rest of her and her father's possessions, most of them anyway. It looked as though things had just been thrown in willy nilly, which she wouldn't put past Jones. She was also certain that he took whatever he deemed valuable. It didn't take long to establish that all of her clothes were there, as were most of her fathers, though his coat seemed to have gone missing. Also missing were his pocket watch, her mother's locket, and a small china clock that had made it all the way to New York with them. Trying not to think about that, but only of what she needed to do, and her new life, Belle started taking things next door, including the little chair. 

Finally it was all moved. She had found her few books, and her writing box. What she wasn't sure of was how she was supposed to react to her employer. Clearly he knew what he was doing, but he also didn't want to make something of it, perhaps because he didn't want her to think he was looking for something else, something like Jones. When she finished, Belle found herself just as confused as before. Instead, she went to heat the oven for the roast, and then a bath. She had so much to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thank you to those of you who are reading and enjoying. The first hand crank washing machine was patented in 1869, and Gold is the kind who would like the new technology. BTW, the first electric washing machine was invented in 1908 the more you know :) Please read, review, all those things.


	6. Chapter 6

After a bath and with her hair once again clean, Belle climbed the stairs to her room. Her things were still all over, and it would take her some time to get sorted, but that wasn't important at the moment. Instead she found a clean day dress. It was old but sturdy, from a time when they had been able to afford, if not expensive, then at least hard wearing clothes. At least it was dark. Belle hardly owned proper mourning black. She'd not worn it since her mother's death, and that was before they came to America. She'd never understood why they had come, and her father never explained, but that was when she was eight. Now she was glad they had not gone to England, where her mother had come from. The workhouse was no one's friend.

Instead of dwelling on those dark thoughts, she dressed and found her apron among her things. Her hair was still too damp to do much with, but she twisted it out of the way, got her work basket, and went down to the kitchen. At least she could repair the dress while she was waiting. She had more clothes now, her clothes, but it didn't mean she wasn't going to repair the old dress she'd found in the box, or any of the other things. Better to use what was available than have to ask Gold for anything, not after all he had done for her.

Belle set everything on the table and began to prepare tea for Gold. She knew perfectly well that he was capable of making his own below, but perhaps this was a way of monitoring her, or possibly seeing how well she followed orders, but it didn't matter, either way, she was going to do her best. One of the few things Belle remembered her mother saying. "Always do the best job you can, regardless of what the task is, love. Even if no one else notices, you will know." She finished preparing the tray. She hoped bread and butter would suffice until dinner, especially as she had not established his eating patterns.

When she arrived in the workroom, she heard voices from the other side of the curtain, the shop side. Since Gold had been very specific about her not being seen, Belle carefully made room and left the tray on the workroom table, and went back up the stairs.

 

As he started up the stairs, Gold could already smell dinner cooking. It had been a long time since he had looked forward to a meal. The last girl was an indifferent cook and the less said about...He cut the thoughts off there, and continued up. The weather wasn't being kind to his leg, but at least the snow had not amounted to anything. Not that he really planned on going anywhere. He didn't leave the shop more than was absolutely necessary, to collect rents, deal with legal issues. The rest he left up to Dove.

Opening the kitchen door he saw his new housekeeper bent over the oven. She must have found what she needed, the dress was both unfamiliar and fit, which was more than he could say for the other, not that he particularly noticed, or so he told himself.

"Oh Sir," she started. "Sorry, I didn't..."

"It's no matter," he told her. "It seems you have found what you needed."

"Yes, I have. Thank...." He waved her off.

"Legally, I had the right to reclaim property in lieu of a debt. It saved having to provide you with clothes. Then there was annoying Jones, which was a side benefit. I'll be in my office until dinner."

"Sir," Belle said quickly before he could leave. "I have some questions.  Preferences, schedule, that sort of thing, if you..."

"Later," he said, leaving her standing there.

Belle returned to what she had been doing. Dinner would be ready in time, she was certain of that. Once again she wondered about this man who had offered her, if not a home, at least a refuge for a while. Gold had said nothing about her father's debt or whether he would expect more from her. Last night he had told her he didn't hold her responsible, and he had been very clear about not being interested in repayment after the fashion Jones had suggested. Belle wanted to trust him, and thus far he had given her no reason not to. Rather than worry about it, she got back to her work.

 

Belle set dinner on the table, and turned to return to the kitchen. "Where are you going, girl?" Gold asked.

"My name is Belle, sir, and I am going to the kitchen. Did you need anything else?"

"You said you had questions, best get them out of the way. I dislike wasting time. Besides there is hardly a reason for you to wait your dinner on me. Fetch another plate, quickly," he ordered.

Belle gawped for only a moment. _Efficiency, that's all it is_ , she told herself. _Besides, he doesn't seem one for ceremony_.

She hurried form the room and returned quickly, setting a place for herself and bringing along her list. Gold served her plate with likely more meat than she had eaten in the last month, but she didn't say anything. He seemed to object to any kind of thanks or gratitude, content or perhaps accustomed, to being treated with nothing but fear. Belle didn't fear him. She wasn't exactly sure how she felt, but it wasn't fear. "How do you like your dinner?" she asked.

"Well, it's hardly roasted infant..." Belle dropped her fork. "Just a quip, dearie, but surely you were aware of my reputation?" He gave her a half smile and for the first time she felt like she was seeing a little bit of the man, the real man.

"I don't put much stock in idle rumor and gossip," she told him, having regained her equilibrium.

"You should. I am as much the beast as they say."

Deciding that he was deliberately baiting her for his own amusement, Belle was determined to give as good as she got. "If you say so, but you haven't answered my question. Infant was unavailable, Mr. Swift, so I hope the beef will serve."

For a moment he looked at her, surprised. Then he laughed, a proper laugh. "Good enough," he told her. "Now, to questions?"

"Yes. First about scheduling. I would like to manage things without being disruptive."

"Very well. The shop is open until six during the the week, only noon on Saturdays. I prefer my lunch on Saturday later. It is my habit to work either in my office or my workshop in the basement. If I am in my office, I take tea as usual, though food is unnecessary, but if I am in my workshop, I am _not_ to be disturbed. That goes for any time I am down there.  Do you understand?" he questioned, emphasizing the point.

"I do. Now as to Sundays?"

"I don't attend Sunday services, as a rule, if that is what you are after. I've not done in years. You may do as you please, though you might consider waiting for a little time. Best not be seen on the streets for a while. Jones is not to be trusted, and he pays off both of the beat cops, who are as corrupt as they come."

"No, I don't really attend. We did, when I was young, before my mum...It has been a while."

"Very well," he said, cutting her off. "Sunday I don't take breakfast 'til 8:00. I prefer a proper supper around two, so no need to bother with tea. Consider the rest of the day yours. I can serve myself."

"Thank you, but as you say, I have nowhere to go. I do..." She paused. Originally she had planned to wait, but it was the perfect opportunity.

"Spit it out," he growled, suddenly suspicious. It was as though he was expecting it, her to request some large favour or the loan of money, maybe an expensive purchase.

"I was wondering if I might borrow a book from your library," Belle asked cautiously.

"A book?" he asked.

"A book. I will take good care of it, I promise. I enjoy reading and I've read all of mine at least twice. I will take it back to my room, you won't even know I'm..."

He paused, thinking on it for a moment. "Very well, you may borrow any book, in fact, as long as the work is done and I'm not inconvenienced, you may use the library when you are finished with your duties. Now, what other things have you to ask me, be quick."

Taking that as a sign that the discussion was more or less at an end, and he was getting impatient, Belle dispensed with the rest of her list, keeping track of his answers in her head as she finished her meal. When both were concluded, Belle cleared the table and returned with a treacle tart she had made earlier. She knew she wouldn't be cooking like this every day, but she wanted to make a good impression, especially after all he had done.

 

By the time she had cleaned up, he had gone, she presumed to his office. As a first day of her new life, Belle had to admit it hadn't gone badly. She still didn't understand Gold, not at all. For just a moment, she felt like she had seen the real man, then just as quickly it had disappeared. One thing was certain though, he wasn't the monster he wanted the world to think he was. He was a mystery, hiding behind a cold masque. But there would be plenty of time to uncover the man, at least she hoped there would. Rather than worry about it, she returned to the kitchen. The dress wouldn't mend itself, and the light was better. Certainly after today, tomorrow would be easier.

 

It was close to ten when Rum left his office. Most of the time he'd spent at his wheel, thinking. No matter how far he got away from his beginnings, he still sought the spinning wheel when he needed to think, and right now he had a good bit to think about, all centered around the girl, around Belle French.

He wasn't entirely certain what he had been thinking when he'd invited her into his home. Oh, on the practical side of it, he did need a new cleaner. The house needed tending, and she had done an admirable job of it. She could most definitely cook, which was a harder skill. Of course it also gave him the opportunity to thumb his nose at his old nemesis, Killian Jones. It was also the only way he was going to gain anything from her father's debt. All very good reasons, individually and together, and none of them completely true. The truth was, he had no good idea, and that was what concerned him. Something about her just made him open his mouth and make the offer before he had really thought about it. He had been surprised by her request to use the library, not to mention her level of literacy, but then he should not have been.  She mentioned she had wanted to be a teacher. It would have served her better than staying with that useless father of hers, but that was none of his business.

Gold decided to stop in the kitchen for some water before he went up, and it was there he found the source of his confusion, sitting at the table. The kitchen was immaculate, and she was mending the work dress he had seen her in earlier. It was not pretty and far too big, but she seemed to be making the effort to fix that.

"Something wrong with your room, dearie?" He tried for sharp, but failed. Honestly he didn't much care where she mended.

"No, not at all, the light was better in here. I can take it up..."

"Do as you will. The kitchen is your domain, not mine. I was merely looking for some water before I retire. You might want to consider doing so as well," he told her before getting his glass and retreating before he did something else stupid. _She is here to tend your home, not to befriend, not that she would be interested in friendship with an old monster like you_ , he told himself as he made his way up to his room as quickly as his bad leg could carry him.

Belle watched him go, wondering once again about the man. He did have a point, though. Already she was feeling the heavy work she had done today. Not that she was unfamiliar with heavy work, she had been helping her father and tending their tiny flat, but after a few days on the run with little food or sleep, her body, which had been running on fear, was finally starting to feel heavy. _Just a few more stitches_ , she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you reading this. Please let me know how you feel about it. 
> 
> If you saw the literary reference and got it, yes, it was entirely deliberate.


	7. Steps forward

December had come and with it, the cold was even worse than ever. Belle French had been with Gold for close to a month, now it was bordering on the Christmas season, and she still had to admit, she didn't understand him. He was brusque, sharp, and yet he had a quirky sense of humour that never failed to make her laugh.

At first, Gold had been distant, trying to almost pretend she wasn't there, but that had been slowly changing, until now...well, she wasn't sure what they were, but at least they were more comfortable with one another. First, it had been taking tea with him. That had started by accident, or rather with an accident. She had been doing the laundry, and had remembered only just in time to rush to the kitchen and put together a tea tray. Unfortunately between her hurry and her tired arms from lifting the laundry, she had set the tray down a little more abruptly that she had meant to. The cup had tumbled off the tray right in front of him.

"It's chipped," Belle said, nervously as she had recovered it. So far, she hadn't seen him in a temper, at least not directed at her, but she didn't want to. She had no idea what to expect. "You can hardly see it. I...I'll go get you another one, just..."

"It's just a cup," he said, taking it away from her to look at it. "No need for a new one. I'll get used to it," he'd said. Belle hadn't known what to make of him then, and she still didn't. He was a puzzle, but she was finding that she wanted to understand it.

Of course, he had followed it up with a comment about how she clearly couldn't necessarily be trusted with breakable things at the moment.

Belle had opened her mouth to snap that he'd not been hanging wet linens in the laundry because it was too cold outside, when he abruptly looked over her damp dress and ordered her to get herself a cup. That had been the first crack in the wall. Since then, she usually joined him for tea, a few moments when she would catch him up, on things like the groceries, or what she was making for dinner, gradually it was even turning into actual conversation.

The second crack in the facade had been when she had been sitting in the kitchen finishing a pair of stockings.

"You knit, girl?" he asked.

"Of course I do?  What else would I be doing?" she had responded, irritated. "And I've told you before not to call me girl. I have a name."

"Very well, _Belle_ ," he said.

'Thank you. But I am running out of wool. I've had to use most of what I had for darning."

"I shouldn't worry," he'd said, and waved her to come with him. There, in one of the spare bedrooms, the clothes press was filled with yarn.

"Oh..." she said. "I..."

"Feel free to use it. You've seen the wheel in my office, I assume?"

"I'd have to be blind not to. I wanted to learn when I was small, my mother could spin, So you did all of this?" Belle asked with admiration.

"And more. I was raised by a pair of elderly aunts in the Highlands after...well, it doesn't matter. They taught me. They spun their own wool, and traded yarn and other things, gloves, stockings, whatever else, with the neighbours for what they needed. Of course, by the time I was a young lad, even that far out, it was becoming a rarity with the machine made yarn much more readily avalible.  But sometimes..." He shrugged.

Belle nodded. "I like to knit, it reminds me of sitting with my mother."

"Yes, well," Gold said when the silence became a little uncomfortable. "You can make use of this." Then, as abruptly as it had begun, whatever it was had ended and he'd gone off and locked himself in his office. Through the door, she thought she could hear the creak of the wheel. After that, he'd kept his distance for a few days. It seemed that every time they made a small stride, he backed away.

Now Belle pulled the drapes before she took the tea down. It was early, almost four, but the light was fading already and it looked like the weather was going to get bad. She had put on a pot of stew, and baked some bread in preparation, and an apple Betty was waiting its turn to be ready for pudding. It was a good, hot meal, and she knew that the weather was hard on his leg. Not that he would ever say. He always tried to hide the pain, acting the old monster when it got too bad, but she could see through him now.

When she finished covering the windows, she prepared the tea tray and carried it down the stairs. Belle was looking forward to their tea. But today, as she sat the tray down in its space on the worktable, she heard angry voices from the other side of the curtain. Not that it was the first, or even second time that had happened, either. Sometimes she would stay for a bit, and once or twice, she had been afraid that it would come to violence, and what she would do then, she hadn't a clue. But thus far, the arguments had ended with the other person storming out and slamming the door behind them.

Still, Belle crept close to the curtain to see if she could get a sense of whoever was on the far side of the curtain and whether she should wait for him or not. She was still a little afraid of people seeing her, and she'd gone no further from the shop than the enclosed yard behind the building where she had dried some clothing on the two nice days they had.

Dove had met her, of course, and despite his appearance, he was a nice, if quiet man. But he had said that Jones was still looking for her, determined to get what he believed he was due. The way the man said it, she had a feeling that he wanted to take a swing at the man. Belle knew for certain that Gold did, he'd been clear about his dislike, though he had not said why.

She listened quietly for a moment. One voice was definitely Gold's. "It's none of my concern, dearie," he sneered at whoever was on the other side of the curtain. "I'm a businessman, and as I have had no business with them, it's nothing to do with me. Now, I'd suggest you leave. You aren't good for custom."

"Come on, Gold, I am just asking you to do your duty. Crime is bad for business too." Belle recognised the voice all too well, Gaston. The local police officer terrified her. The few times she had been forced to interact with him, he'd looked at her in a way that made her feel she was underdressed. Part of her wanted to flee upstairs and hide. Was he here for her? No, he couldn't be could he? Regardless, Gold wouldn't let him into the back of the shop, would he? But what if he attacked Gold? The man was a brute.

Belle backed away from the curtain and took a deep breath. She was certain that Gold disliked Gaston as much as she did, maybe even more. But even as she was arguing with herself about what to do, she heard the front door open with a force that caused the shop bell to dance madly, followed by being closed hard enough that she feared for the windows. Then, the familiar sound of the cane tapping across the wooden floor as Gold came through the curtains.

He seemed a little surprised to find her there, but clearly he realised the time. One look at her face was enough to tell him that she had heard part of the exchange. "Bit dramatic, isn't he?" The pawnbroker said, trying to lighten the mood. "Hope my tea didn't get cold while I was being forced to deal with that toad."

"Toads are much more attractive," Belle replied, grateful for his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so clearly it's my week for updating stories that I have been neglecting. WHat can I say, my muse is all over the place right now. Anyway, I hope you forgive me. Please, leave a comment in the little box. I promise there will be more soon.


	8. Peace and Poetry

"True. So you heard all that then?" Gold asked as he settled onto the stool at the worktable where they took their tea.

"Couldn't have not. That lout can probably be heard on the Bowery," Belle said neutrally, trying to hide that his presence had made her nervous.

"It's nothing to do with you," the pawnbroker said, almost kindly. "He's out after a thief or so he says. It seems that someone robbed the Blanchard house, at least that's what the oaf said. Regina Blanchard is claiming her diamonds were taken."

"Claims?" Belle asked. There was a story there. She poured the tea and set out scones and seed cake. If he wanted to tell her, he would, if not, hurrying him would make no difference.

He nodded and picked up the little chipped cup. "Well, Regina's 'ownership' of those diamonds is somewhat dubious. She is a widow, you see. Her husband was significantly older, and died rather abruptly, leaving her a fortune, and a young stepdaughter who she shipped off to a boarding school as soon as she decently could. The diamonds actually belong to young Mary Margaret's mother and I would bet that the diamonds aren't the only thing missing. Of course, she doesn't want the girl back."

"How do you know all this?" Belle asked in amazement. She had seen the name Blanchard before, when she would find an old newspaper abandoned that she could read, but beyond that, knew nothing.

"Oh, that's an easy one, dearie, I appraised those diamonds for Leo Blanchard. He wanted to double check the first one. He was a good man."

"There is really very little in this town you don't know about, is there?" Belle commented, impressed. "You own this entire building, so clearly you could afford to do whatever you wish, and yet you stay here, even though the neighbourhood..." She stopped. She had overstepped badly, and she wondered if it was so badly that he would build up that wall between them again.

"I should get back to work," Gold said abruptly, another one of those sudden mood changes. But this time he smiled, just a little. It was a slow process, but he seemed to be at least trusting her more. Belle watched him go back through the curtain into the shop. He really was a puzzle, but then she had always liked puzzles. She cleared away the tray, and returned to the first floor.

 

When Gold made his way to the stairs and up to the apartment, he was greeted by the smell of stew and fresh bread. Admittedly, he had been trying to ignore the wonderful smells issuing from his kitchen since Belle came. He would never admit how much of an improvement to his life Belle had been. It wouldn't do to have her know how much he enjoyed the change. Still, Christmas was coming, perhaps he could contrive to do something for her, perhaps a new book. One of the many things he liked about her was her intelligence, and the fact that she did read. Her father had been a triple fool to waste her education like that. If she'd gotten to teach, she would have not been left in the straits that she'd been in. Mind, the fool's error was to his benefit.

Besides that, she mended, darned, and did much more than the chit he'd had before. No comparison really. He made his way through the kitchen where she was putting the finishing touches on. "Set a second place," he said abruptly when he saw her.

"Sir?" she asked.

"No point in you taking your meal in the kitchen and me in there, not and have you serving. Just bring it all in," he said. Gaston's earlier visit had bothered him, but he knew it had rattled her more than she let on.

He didn't trust the man at all, and while having the pawnshops looking out for stolen goods made some sense, the Blanchard girl had no connection to the neighbourhood. She wasn't known here in the land of the newly arrived and the moderate to wretchedly poor. It was a fact that Belle's father had put himself in a bad position by taking the digs he had, at least as far as his ability to make the rent. Gold knew well enough the true tenements further down, though they were getting closer. There were entire families sharing one postage stamp sized room with no light, no water, and no hope. This block was still more genteel, but only just. Too many men out of work, too many lads on the street corners, unwashed, not in school. It always brought up memories of his son.

"Sir?" Belle was back, bringing food. She looked like she actually cared what was bothering him. _Of course she cares. If something happened to you, she would be back in the same mess as before_ , the cynical voice whispered, but he decided to ignore it, at least for tonight.

"Sorry, I was thinking," he said, waving away her concern. "Wondering what Gaston was _really_ after."

"I thought he was asking after those diamonds?" Belle questioned.

"So he said. But there are several things about that...why would he think to check here? I don't deal in dodgy merchandise, or..." he amended. "Merchandise that I know is dodgy. But beyond that, does it _look_ like I could handle something like that?"

"Could you?" Belle asked. The shop looked unprepossessing, but she knew that was not true, she had seen behind the facade.

"Oh, certainly, if I wanted to," Gold said with a wicked smile. "But no one knows that, or at least no one would would suggest it to that brainless lout. I'll speak to the sergeant. If he's actually had an order for someone to search all the pawnshops on the island, that'll be one thing, otherwise..."

"You... You wouldn't hurt him, would you?" she asked cautiously. Gaston was a big man.

"He's not done that much to annoy me. Yet," he conceded. "Why do you care?" he asked, curious.

"I..." Belle paused. She didn't care for Gaston, not at all, but she didn't believe in hurting people, not unless they were trying to hurt you. On the other hand, she didn't want Gold to get hurt or in trouble for that matter. "I don't want anything to happen to you," she answered finally, going for at least part of the truth.

"Ahh, want to cling to the monster you know," he said with a knowing smile. Belle was certain he was trying to make her giggle, and she did, but there was more to it than that.

"You aren't a monster, you know," she told him quietly as she slipped out into the kitchen with the dishes to bring in the dessert.

"If only you knew," he sighed, low enough that she couldn't hear. She was a lovely girl, sweet, far too good for the old beast he knew himself to be. Someday she would venture outside the shop, when it was safe to do so. Then he would lose her. But for now, she was here, taking better care of him than anyone ever had, since his aunts had passed. Not even his late, and not the least lamented, wife had been so good to him, but those thoughts were unproductive. Worry about her leaving later, for now there was pudding.

 

Gold allowed the subject to drop, but when he went to his office for his evening's privacy, he found that his heart wasn't in the solitude. Instead, he poured himself a whiskey and went into the lounge. Belle was trying to mend a hem while reading a large book propped on the settee beside her. It wasn't a very efficient system, and he told her so.

"Well, do you have a better idea?' she asked. "Unless you are planning on reading it to me." The look on her face was defiant, and he was never one to turn away from a challenge. He walked over and picked up the book.

"Donne?" he asked, looking at the book. It was a quite old and very worn book of poetry. Belle shrugged.

"It was my mum's, and with poetry there is not exactly a story to get lost in, just lovely words," she told him.

Mr Gold sat down in the chair, took a sip from his drink and placed it on the side table before he went to the top of the page. " _No man is an island/Entire of itself/Everyman is a piece of the continent/A part of the main...._ "

Belle leaned back with a contented sigh and continued her mending. He did have a beautiful voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a long time. So many stories, so little time. Thank you for reading this. The poem referenced is John Donne's "No man is an Island" and if there were a place where RC could be heard reading it, or damn near any other poetry, I would be all over that. Please leave a comment in the little box.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes--So I decided on 1870's ish New York mostly because I had the research to hand. I know that a lot was left unsaid but that was the way of the time, and I wanted to keep the period feel. Getting the furry in there was difficult, but it definitely involved a great deal of thought.


End file.
